


On The Brink

by AAluminium



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Butterfly Effect, Death, F/M, Love, Memories, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAluminium/pseuds/AAluminium
Summary: Dom sat back, feeling the uncomfortable chair sticking into her back. On the one hand, this was the best moment for the questioning, as Darlene, shocked and irresponsible for the actions and words, was capable of telling a slew of things the FBI didn’t know about, but on the other hand, this gal’s overwrought nerves didn’t minimize her abilities to take a stand. She guarded her past as much as any other would do, but she obviously had something to hide. Feds were already in the know, they needed a few more threads that simplified the investigation and helped protected others. Didn’t Darlene fathom her boyfriend wasn’t the only one at stake – and the Bureau could save others?..





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joanna and Nattie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Joanna+and+Nattie).



A small metal box called an interrogation room smelled bleach and ammonia because of the men’s room situated nearby; stale perfume, perspiration; and nicotine that permeated the walls too deeply to ever be completely eradicated. Underlying all was the acrid, omnipresent tang of fear – it was even more scathing than any other of the odors flying in the air. Shit, there was something else – the stench of old fast-food mixed with some other stink etching into her hair and clothes. Blood. 

Darlene smoked cigarettes one by one barely understanding how her trembling fingers still could follow the impulses her brain sent down to the limbs. 

“You must be Darlene Alderson,” came a low feminine voice, “Mr. Francis Shaw’s girlfriend?” 

Who the fuck is Francis Shaw, she was about to ask – and in a second realized this is Cisco’s real name. _Was_. This _was_ his real name. 

She didn’t respond. For the first time in her life Darlene didn’t parry the question by her badass sarcasm and ribald straightforwardness. She kept staring into nowhere, as if trying to comprehend the catastrophe that had occurred to her and practically ruined her unstable, abnormal, unpretentious yet quite appropriate life. Cisco wasn’t the perfect guy to be with, but she wasn’t an unimpeachable girl either, so they complemented one another well enough giving the sufficient amount of freedom when needed. Their relationship was the strangest among possible: he was always partaking of dubious and hinky opportunities – and mostly got nailed. Then he learnt Chinese – and delved deeply into their business, although this was a mystery he preferred to retain to himself, even Darlene was not allowed into it. And still, they supported each other. With constant scandals and shouts, breaking plates and using baseball bats, balancing on the verge of fighting (real fighting – Darlene was such a combative soldier!), he showed the most manly qualities of his nature and character. She complied with his words, and they kept living their usual way, each having secrets and perfectly spending time – their side-lives had nothing to do with what they had at home. They had their freedom as much as they had their daily routine of a couple. 

And now he’s gone. 

For good. 

“Darlene?” the redhead opposite her was patiently waiting for an answer. 

The blue orbs swiveled – and glared into the pale face. She couldn’t muster her thoughts and pull herself together. She had just witnessed a mind-blowing scene. Literally. They wanted to escape New York; wanted to keep going with their lives – albeit they wouldn’t be a happy family with a couple of rugrats nearby, but they always could rely on each other. He had the gut to bear with her temper; and she didn’t let him do stupid things – and had saved his ass a few times. Fucking Chinese brats. Who else could it be?

“What do you know about the CDs he was hawking in the streets?” the fed segued to the next question. 

“About what? Listen, what’s-your-name, I don’t give a shit about the stuff he does anywhere beside my bed. He can fucking push marijuana over there, for all I care. He doesn’t report me!” 

Darlene extinguished the cigarette against the metal table. Eternal love, what other kind of bullshit do they propagandize on TV? Her eternal love sprawl across the dirty floor in a shithole – with the crushed skull and brains inside out, and this ginger ballbuster, sent by someone fancier, captured her here, trying to get privy to their… 

“No, you listen,” Dom leaned forward towards the girl. “If you don’t tell me the details we lack, you will be in the same place where your boyfriend is – on the cemetery. Isn’t it enough? He isn’t the first, but he won’t be the last, that’s for sure; are you going off the rails that much not to care about yourself even? Or, are you so sentimental to be ready to fall into the same heat? I doubt you are so eager to scatter your own brain. What the VHS is it?” 

“Home video. You know, we were into filming some freaky shit.” 

Dom sat back, feeling the uncomfortable chair sticking into her back. On the one hand, this was the best moment for the questioning, as Darlene, shocked and irresponsible for the actions and words, was capable of telling a slew of things the FBI didn’t know about, but on the other hand, this gal’s overwrought nerves didn’t minimize her abilities to take a stand. She guarded her past as much as any other would do, but she obviously had something to hide. Feds were already in the know, they needed a few more threads that simplified the investigation and helped protected others. Didn’t Darlene fathom her boyfriend wasn’t the only one at stake – and the Bureau could save others? 

Darlene, intensively, kept fiddling with her lighter. She couldn’t even say how many cigarettes she had already smoked. High-strung, frightened, the girl barely realized the situation to the full extent: trying to be as frivolous as possible, she involuntarily disclosed the qualities she strove to conceal. She worried; she was afraid of accepting the fact that she loved this ‘moron’ a bit more than she initially thought. They constantly fell into rampage and brawled so loudly that raised hell around, making the whole building shake, and next morning they had to run for a new set of cups as she had broken them all the night before; he had to find an approach that worked wonders and put up with her complicated character – but he never said out loud how the fuck he hated her attitude to him. Did he read her like a book? Well, evidently yes, as he had proposed to her!.. She wondered what the hell he was thinking about making such a decision. Nitwit. She always needed freedom; she kept drilling it into his brain since the very beginning – since their first meeting when they got laid. Damn, when was it? She couldn’t even remember. She escaped home, hid at his place in order not to go back – it was always difficult to breath in their house, and after Dad’s demise Mom got bonkers. Darlene tried to indemnify Elliot, was always ready to strike back, expostulated her brother to vamoose – and he didn’t react at all, locked himself up in a mental box ignoring her requests and swearing. Cisco had offered them to crash at his place – well, he didn’t have a crazy mom with a heavy item at the ready!

To boot, he never preached her, even if considered her behavior inappropriate. Yeah, he was a bit of a coward – that’s what she thought originally – but now she comprehended he wasn’t quailing but attempted to defend her. Sure thing – an eccentric lass with the heart-shaped glasses on the nose, pulling no punches, gave huge square thugs a bit of her mind. Clocking her would be as easy as winking, and they could contrive some other entertaining activities to do. Cisco didn’t even rebuke her for the scandal in the library, let alone her asinine, shitty idea to get mixed up with Chinese. Of course he resented; she would throw another tantrum if he acted up – and would be right – but she used some opaque abstract terms almost related to brave new world from Cuban communism. 

He submitted – or at least, pretended to submit. And she, freaking dipstick, preferred to see what she wanted to see – an irresolute jellyfish, afraid of making a step forward without her! Well, she did pluck him of his trouble, not forgetting to utter a curse or two, but didn’t he do the same for her? And only once he blew a fuse, shouting she was really losing it, and reminding that she had no right to decide who was to live and who was to die. 

If this dickhead only knew there was something to rescue him, she thought bitterly. What do they call it – a butterfly effect? If they hadn’t hauled this lame duck to hospital, they wouldn’t have had to wander around the streets searching for a sandwich, and the Dark Army would have never caught them! At least not now, when she’s most vulnerable and on the brink.


End file.
